from dust and smoke
by KyhCad33
Summary: Aleksandar laughs his melodious laugh (so, so, so melodious), and his shining aura makes Camille look away in embarrassment. He's happy and he's smiling; he's so alive.


**A/N:** I don't have much to say about this, other than the fact that I have no idea how to write tragedy/angst (or _why_ I wrote this, for that matter).

So constructive criticism would be nice! I'd like to improve on writing stuff with these genres...Also, I might've overlooked some formatting or spelling errors; feel free to point it those out as well.

**Title:** from dust and smoke  
**Rating:** T  
**Warning:** Human AU, off-screen character death  
**Genre/s:** Tragedy, Angst  
**Pairing/s:** implied?BulgMona (up for interpretation)  
**Summary (excerpt):** Aleksandar laughs his melodious laugh (so, so, so melodious), and his shining aura makes Camille look away in embarrassment. He's happy and he's smiling; he's so alive.  
**Inspiration/s:** Background characters. Villager B. The kind of people that always seem to be in your life, but they don't have a huge impact on you (or do they?).

**I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

_He was always there._

* * *

"I can't believe they disbanded! No way! They were my favourite band too!"

"Hey, did you play that game I told you about yesterday?"

"That video was _sick_! How'd they manage to spin in the air like that?"

Camille flips the pages on her book. Thirteen, seventeen, twenty-five, flip, flip, flip. It's the same, monotonous routine she's ever had. Around her, the voices penetrate through her eardrums, but not her skull, because she's too engrossed in the paper pages to listen.

The door slides open as one of her classmates comes panting in, and everyone's conversations stop at once. Only Camille continues doing what she's doing, and pays no heed to Alfred, because no one cares enough to pay any attention to _her_.

(and she doesn't care enough to notice)

Still, her eyes flicker upwards from underneath her glasses. Camille is still curious, even if the others won't know that.

"Listen up dudes! I have some news!" All the people in the class stare at Alfred, his wide-eyed expression and grin making the others wait in anticipation. "Katyusha from Class A and Lovino Vargas are official! My sources tell me they started dating yesterday!"

There's a tense silence as the proud, blond journalist stands triumphantly at the doorframe. Then a screech sounds out. "Woah, woah, woah. Hold up for a sec." Matthias Køhler had pushed his chair back and stood up. It's obvious that he doesn't believe it. "Al, you're not talking about _the_ Lovino Vargas, are you? The delinquent from the other school? The one that started a fight with Gilbert a month ago?"

Alfred laughs. "Correcto! Katyusha's dating the very same Lovino Vargas!"

Camille blinks. She's heard of him before. Lovino, that is. Alfred told them about the fight from before too.

She's heard too much in her life. She knows too much about her classmates, but they don't know much about her, and she doubts they can even remember her name. But Camille knows theirs. She always does.

Her attention lingers a few more seconds at the news before she begins to flip, flip, flip the pages again. Her classmates' voices start to tune out of her head, and they become buzzing noises. Background noises. It hurts her ears and happens too often, but it's not like she can swat out all the flies in the world.

Camille's classmates are like background noise to her. She doesn't mind though. After all, she's just a background character to them.

* * *

"Just yesterday morning, Aleksandar Kovachev from Class C died in a car crash."

His death comes as a surprise to everyone. While he isn't popular, he isn't forgotten like Camille, whose presence seems to haunt her classmate's minds. In fact, he's well-liked, although he has more acquaintances than friends.

Camille, who's talked to Aleksandar a few times, is especially taken aback, because he (Aleksandar Kovachev, Camille repeats over and over again) is someone that Camille thinks doesn't deserve to die.

If someone could live forever, or if she had to choose someone that would live to be more than a hundred, Camille would wish for Aleksandar to be that person. He's sweet and friendly (was, was, was), and he's the type of boy that Camille could envision her best friend to be.

But he already has a best friend (had, had, had), a Romanian boy called Vladimir. She can envision Vladimir letting Aleksandar's mother weep on his black suit as he starts to sob too, crying out 'Sasho! Sasho!' (a nickname that resounds in Camille's head) again and again under his breath.

And Camille can envision the sound of 'Amazing Grace' filling up the sky, as if they want Aleksandar to hear that they miss him. And Camille can envision that the skies would be gray and stormy, and she'd look away as the coffin goes lower and lower under the ground.

She can imagine picking out a dark dress at an expensive store just for Aleksandar. Just for him, just for him. Camille would never use it again. No, she'd find the finest black dress she would ever find and wear it once, and never wear it again until years later.

Camille would keep it in her closet until the days she dies, and she'd wear it to her funeral, wear it as she too gets buried six feet under. It'd be symbolic, she thinks. It'd connect them together in some way.

And she can imagine all this in her head, because she can't process it as a serious matter. Camille thinks her teacher's just joking. No, no, that sweet, sweet Aleksandar Kovachev can't be dead. No. He can't be.

Camille stares at her teacher. She stares and stares, because he's going to stop looking so somber and suddenly cheer up, and laugh saying he was just kidding, but seconds turn into minutes and no one says anything to refute it. No. _No_.

"We will be having a school memorial two weeks from now," her teacher says, "and I expect each and every one of you to be respectful. His family will be there too, and we want to help Mr. and Mrs. Kovachev as much as we possibly can." He scans the room of quiet students, his glare hardening into a scowl. "Is that understood?"

As everyone lets out unsteady affirmatives, Camille's gaze drops down to her desk, and her tears do the same. They drop, drop, drop, and she buries her face in her hands, but it's not like anyone notices.

No one notices, but it's times like these that make Camille relieved that they don't.

* * *

_She was all he ever wanted._

* * *

"Isn't she _cute_?" Vladimir asks, showing his best friend a picture of his girlfriend. "I'll bring Lili next Saturday so you can meet her in person."

Aleksandar takes the photo in his hands and inspects it carefully. His dark hair is shining under the sun, his eyes vibrant and alive, his movements animated and lively. "Wow, I'm still surprised you managed to get a girlfriend," he teases.

Vladimir rolls his eyes and punches him on the arm lightly. "Yeah, and _you're_ seventeen but you've never had one."

A light grin flits on his lips. "I don't need one," Aleksandar says. He laughs (it's melodious and ringing; his laughter could sound angelic even to a deaf man's ears) and looks at Vladimir with a happy look. "But really, I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Vladimir chirps. "Don't you have someone you like though? You told me-"

"I don't think that's going to work out," Aleksandar cuts him off. He scratches the back of his head. A nervous habit. "Ahaha, I don't think...she likes being near me."

Vladimir scoffs. Aleksandar keeps a tight smile on his face as his friend lifts an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How do you know? Just because you said hi to her and she only smiled and nodded her head? Sasho, maybe she's just _shy_. Or maybe she doesn't like talking that much. Actually, I think she talks to you the most."

There's a pause before a pleased rumble comes from Aleksandar's throat. "Is that so?"

"Yep. I'm pretty sure she likes being around you."

Another laugh. "That's good. I like being around her too."

* * *

Aleksandar lies on his bed, facing the ceiling. His hair is tousled and messy, but he doesn't care because he sits up and doesn't take heed of it, only looking around his room. It's clean enough, organized to a certain degree, but still messy enough that you would trip if you didn't watch where you were going.

He sighs. "Vlad, it's easier said than done," he whispers. "I can't tell her I like her."

He waits, as if Vladimir would magically appear and respond by smacking him on the head. But his friend doesn't, and Aleksandar sighs again, standing up to exit his room. He drags his feet across the ground, the bottom of his checkered pajamas touching the floor as he walks.

Aleksandar's posture is bad; he slouches because he's too tired to think that he shouldn't, and his head nods off every few seconds, too tired to even be up.

But his eyes are still vibrant. They're still bright, and twinkling, and anything but dull.

Anything but dull.

"Sasho? You're still up, dear?" His mother is in the kitchen, doing her office work. Aleksandar never expected it, but he only shrugs and goes to get himself a mug of water.

"I'm just thirsty, Mother," he responds. He takes his favourite cup, a red mug decorated with the words 'LIVE STRONG, FREE, AND HAPPY'. It's his favourite because it reminds him of his friend, the colour reflecting in Vladimir's eyes, and the phrase being something the Romanian was most likely to say. Red is Aleksandar's favourite colour too.

His mother eyes him carefully. Aleksandar knows that she thinks something's wrong, and she somehow wants to make him feel better. His family is tightly knit.

The corners of her mouth crinkle into a smile. "How about I make you some hot chocolate? I know how much you like drinking that," his mother says. She heads over to the cabinet to grab a satchel of hot chocolate powder, before looking back at her son. "Would you like marshmallows too, Sasho?"

Aleksandar smiles, all thoughts of confessing to the girl he likes now gone from his head. "Yes please. I'd like that."

* * *

_He was like the sun to her dreary mornings._

* * *

Camille is in a slump, but it's not like anyone notices. Only her older brother does, Francis, and even then, he doesn't ask if she's alright, and does nothing to comfort her.

...But maybe it's because she can't be comforted. Maybe she'll never be able to cheer up, because Aleksandar's death had taken such a huge toll on Camille. What if he's just in a different country? What if he just took on a new identity and ran away from home?

What if he's not really dead? The thought makes her feel happier.

Camille squints as a bright light suddenly wakes her up. She groans as sun hits her face, and glances at her brother, who has a small frown on his face. "Get up, Camille. _Levez vous_." He strides over to his sister's side, crouching beside her, worry evident in his features. "Have you been crying again?"

"I have not," she lies, rubbing her eyes. But her voice comes out hoarse and uneven, and Francis hugs his sister.

"_Mon cher_, everything will be alright," Francis says. "He's in a better place now."

Camille feels her eyes watering up again, and she starts to heavily breathe. Aleksandar Kovachev. "N-no." She sniffles, her hands shaking as she wraps her arms around her brother's neck. "Aleksandar isn't dead."

There's a short silence before Francis speaks up again. "You must have really cared for him, did you, Camille?"

Her fingertips freeze on her brother's skin, and Camille's eyes widen as she gently pushes Francis away. "I-I don't..." She hardly talks to him at all (talked, talked, talked), so why _does_ she care? Why does she care so much for someone who had been a background character in her own life? "I-"

"You might not have known it yourself, _mon cher_, but this Aleksandar Kovachev might've had a bigger part in your life than you thought he did." With one last look, he stands and exits her room. "Please get dressed. You'll be late for school."

Camille stares as the door closes behind her brother, and places a hand on her chest. It's beating wildly, wilder than Camille could ever imagine. But it's not like she ever had feelings for Aleksandar.

In fact, she doesn't know anything about him at all, like his favourite colour, or his favourite drink, or how he looks with all his bed hair, and she can just feel her mind spiraling and spiraling down. Can't she feel sad that someone she knew died? Can't she care for him? Can't she cry?

Is she not allowed to care?

(or maybe it's because Aleksandar is too important to let go; maybe it's because he's the hero in her story all along)

* * *

_She always watched his every move._

* * *

_He's six and he's innocent. Aleksandar doesn't have a care in this world._

_He's six and he goes to school. He's a new student and it's his first day here, and he's smiling, smiling, smiling. And everyone is smiling back, with huge, toothy grins, excited eyes, and everything in between. It's Aleksandar's first day, and it's already going well._

_"Hello, my name is Aleksandar Kovachev, but you can call me Sasho," Aleksandar says, a tiny bounce in his words, a tiny bounce in his steps. "I hope we can all be friends."_

_When it's recess time, all the boys and girls immediately flock around him to ask Aleksandar questions._

_"When's your birthday?"_

_"Do you have any pets?"_

_"Why is your name so weird?"_

_Aleksandar answers the questions one by one, his voice quiet and nervous around so many strangers, but he eventually warms up. All of them are friendly and nice, so there's nothing to be afraid of. "My birthday is on October 5, I don't have any pets, and my name's Bulgarian, so that's you why might've never heard it before."_

_The people laugh and ask more questions, and Aleksandar glances around. There's a girl at the edge of the group shifting from one foot to the other, as if she's uncomfortable to be there. Aleksandar blinks and tilts his head. His lustrous, black hair shakes a little as he waves his hand. "Excuse me? Why are you standing all alone over there?"_

_Everyone looks over to see who Aleksandar is talking to, and their eyes brighten up as they say, "Camille! Camille! Come join our circle!"_

_The brown-haired girl jumps when she hears her name, and she tentatively steps closer to where her classmates are. Aleksandar grins, all of his previous anxiousness now gone. "Hi! You have a pretty name, Camille!"_

_At the compliment, she blushes, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Aleksandar stares at her, from her big, green eyes to her scuffling shoes, and ruffles her hair in an attempt to ease her awkwardness. Camille squeaks as she looks up, and Aleksandar grins. "I hope we can be friends!"_

_"...Y-yes," Camille says, her cheeks still flushed. "I hope so too."_

_Aleksandar laughs his melodious laugh (so, so, so melodious), and his shining aura makes Camille look away in embarrassment. He's happy and he's smiling; he's so alive. It's Aleksandar's first day in this school and he feels free._

* * *

It's his sixth grade summer, and Aleksandar has a popsicle dangling from the side of his mouth, while he fans himself with a paper fan. Vladimir is with him, half dead and half irritated. "Ugh! It's so hot!" the Romanian boy shouts. "Can't we go to the pool or beach or something?"

Aleksandar rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch into a smile. "Relax, Vlad. They're almost done fixing your AC."

"But not fast enough!"

"Wow. You're such a complainer," Aleksandar says. "What do you think Natalya would say if she found that out about you?" A sudden pain erupted from the Bulgarian's head. "Ow! Hey, hey! I was kidding!" Another hit. "I wasn't going to _tell_ her or anything!"

"See if I trust you ever again, idiot," Vladimir huffs, but he has his good-natured smile on his face.

It's summer time, and Aleksandar couldn't bother with the heat at all. Beads of sweat roll down his face and neck, and he groans as his sticky, dark hair makes his head warmer than it should. Rolling up his short sleeves, he says to Vladimir, "Why don't we go to the convenience store?"

"Didn't I tell you I don't have any money?" the blond says. Grumbling to himself, Vladimir gives his friend a pointed look. "You're just forcing me to come so you could brag about the fact that _you_ have enough change to buy another popsicle, are you?"

Aleksandar laughs. It comes out strained, because of how the heat seems to drain his energy. (_'No, no, no, that's not right. It's anything but forced. He isn't, _can't_, be like that.'_) "What are you talking about? There's air conditioning in the convenience store! Come on, I'll even buy you an ice cream."

Vladimir's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead, as if he doesn't believe Aleksandar would actually buy him one. "...Huh, is that so? Alright then, let's go. You better be telling the truth though."

"I am, I am."

It's a short walk to the store, about seven minutes, but they take longer than that because of how sluggish they move. When they enter the shop, Vladimir almost drops down to the ground and kisses the cold floor, and Aleksandar pulls him straight up to stop him. Even if he'd do it himself, it's still disgusting.

"Okay! Let's go get that treat you're getting me!" Vladimir drags Aleksandar to the small popsicle section, his eyes already feasting on the strawberry-flavoured one.

Aleksandar looks up, staring somewhere else as his friend decides which brand he wants. His jaw drops slightly as he sees one of his classmates exit the aisle he was gazing at. "Hey, Vlad."

Vladimir stops whatever he's doing to turn to Aleksandar. "Yeah?"

"She's here."

"Who?"

"Camille."

The red-eyed boy's twists his head to where Aleksandar is discreetly pointing at. His mouth slowly turns into a small 'o' as he watches Camille talk to her father about the groceries. "Oh, it's Camille!" Vladimir whistle, nudging his friend on the ribs. "Go and talk to her."

Aleksandar's face turns into a goofy expression. "Why?"

"Well why not?" Vladimir asks.

"You have to give me a better reason than that if you want me to go talk to her."

Vladimir rolls his eyes and sighs. "How much denser can you get?" he mutters. Aleksandar doesn't quite catch it and is about to ask, when Vladimir says, "Eh, suit yourself. If you don't want to talk to her, don't talk to her. Blow your chance and no one's going to help fix it." He then grabs two popsicles from the freezer. "So which one? Double fudge or caramel?"

"Caramel." Aleksandar glances back to Camille one more time. This time, she's staring straight back at him too, and she quickly averts her eyes and blushes. Her father taps her shoulder and speaks in French, and Camille hastily responds back, wild hand gestures showing how flustered she is.

Aleksandar continues to look at Camille because he just wants to; there's no special reason (there's no reason, he tells himself, no special reason), and he just stares at her face, her features, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips...

As they turn into another aisle, Camille's eyes meet Aleksandar's again, and this time, Aleksandar grins and waves. She jumps and rushes after her father, her cheeks a light pink colour. Aleksandar only laughs and Vladimir looks up. He has a confused expression on his face. "Huh, what happened?" he asks.

"Nothing really," Aleksandar says. "I just feel lucky to be alive."

* * *

_He couldn't touch the sky, but he could feel the clouds on his fingertips._

* * *

"It's not something you should be _upset_ over."

Goosebumps crawl all over Camille's skin.

Emma crosses her arms, her nose pointing upwards. Her dress sweeps all around her. Elegance emits from every direction as she stands straight and tall, and her black laced gloves lift Lukas' chin up. "And that is where _you_, dear Sir, are mistaken."

Lukas lowers the brim of his top hat. A sinister glare appears on his face. "And how so, Madame?" The class watches, intrigued, at the two best drama students in their grade. They're hauntingly beautiful, and the atmosphere makes it even more splendid. The dark lighting creates a sinister effect. The dark shadows cause an air of mysteriousness.

But it makes Camille's stomach sick. Aleksandar Kovachev. Somehow, she's reminded of Aleksandar, and it makes her sick.

(everything seems to remind her of him nowadays)

So she excuses herself from class, and heads over to the nearest restroom. It won't help her feel better, but Camille doesn't know what else she could possibly do.

As she walks through the hallways, the quiet, eerie atmosphere makes her feel afraid, and Camille is torn between feeling nostalgic or upset. She doesn't know what to think of that either (and again, again, she imagines her own long, flowing dress, that arcs across the ground and drags the trembling earth underneath it).

"Excuse me? You dropped this." Camille looks over her shoulder to see Vladimir. He has her handkerchief in his hands. When he realizes who he's talking to, his eyes widen slightly. "Camille? Oh...is this yours?" he sheepishly asks, a tired grin stretching across his lips.

Camille notices his eyes look dead. His smile looks dead. Dead, dead, dead. Then her second thought is: he knows my name, he knows my name, he remembers me.

Did Aleksandar remember her too (does, does, does)?

"A-ah, thank you. I appreciate your generosity," Camille says. She gingerly takes it from Vladimir, and gratefully bows her head. "Thank you, Vladimir," she repeats.

"It's no problem." Vladimir forces himself to flash another smile, and it pains Camille to see him like that. It pains her that she has to feel that way. "...Say, how are you doing? I haven't talked to you in a long time," Vladimir says.

Camille grips her handkerchief tighter. "I'm doing fine, just...exhausted. So much things happened in the past few days," she whispers, her voice too quiet for even her to hear. But Vladimir seems to hear it as clear as day (Camille's voice is muffled in her head, muffled, muffled), and he only lets out a breath.

"I see." He looks at Camille's weary face, then her shaking hands, and he comes closer, resting his head on her shoulder. Camille freezes as he hugs her, and she tries to steady herself by clutching onto Vladimir's shirt. "He would've wanted you to be happy, you know. We would've wanted _both_ of us to be happy."

"...What do you mean?" Vladimir stares at her in the eye and grins. Although it isn't his usual, cheerful self, there's a spark of amusement that Camille sees.

He doesn't answer it, but he doesn't have to, because Camille thinks she doesn't want to know the answer. Instead, he nods his head in acknowledgement, and says, "I should be going back to class now. I'll see you later, Camille."

Vladimir turns and begins to walk away, but stops when Camille cries out, "W-wait! Vladimir!" He twists around to glance at Camille, and she plays with her handkerchief, fidgeting as she asks, "What was his favourite colour?"

There's a short pause before he answers. "Blue," Vladimir says. "It always reminded him of the sky."

_'Ah,'_ Camille thinks. She should've known.

_Blue was like freedom._

_Wings._

_Life at your fingertips._

* * *

_She was his past, present, and future._

* * *

Aleksandar fiddles with the cup's handle as he stares disinterestedly at the window. Spring is too bustling, and too loud, but he likes the season. The weather's nice and the plants start to grow, and the sky overhead just feels right.

Aleksandar likes the spring.

_Ring_. It's the shop bell. The Bulgarian looks up to see the person he's expecting, and his eyes brighten. "Camille!"

At the sound of her name, Camille glances upwards and meets Aleksandar's gaze. She smiles and waves. "Aleksandar, how are you?" she says as she draws closer. Her hair is in a loose braid, as if she was in a hurry to do her hair, and a new pair of red glasses perch on her nose.

Aleksandar grins. "Great! And you?"

"I'm doing well."

Camille sits down, and Aleksandar eyes the bag she brought with her. It's sparkly, with a multitude of colours arranged on the sides. The balloons and party hats design make it obvious to Aleksandar about what it is. "Whose birthday is it?"

"Yours," Camille says. She pushes it towards Aleksandar. "Happy belated birthday."

There's a pause before he chuckles. Aleksandar's voice is deep, as expected from a twenty-year-old, but it still comes as a surprise to Camille. Two years can make a person change so much, and she savours it. She savours it because it's the first time she's heard his laugh in such a long time. It's as melodious as she remembers. "It's March, Camille."

"And this is a belated present." Aleksandar rests his head on his palm, cocking it to one side, and he stares at the gift with an amused expression. Camille leans forward to push it even more.

"Okay, okay! I'll take it!" Aleksandar says. He then fishes through his pocket. "Hold up, I have a present for you too." Aleksandar takes a small package and hands it over to Camille. She tentatively takes it and inspects it with a careful eye.

"So I can't give you a birthday present, hm?" Camille smiles when Aleksandar nervously rubs the back of his neck. She's glad that some things don't change at least.

He sips his coffee, and Camille thinks the aroma suits him well; Aleksandar reminds her of a dark, soothing smell, with a tinge of bitterness and cream. "Fine, fine, give me all the gifts you want." He laughs. "It's just weird that you give me one when this is the first time we've seen each other since high school."

Camille nods. "Mm."

Aleksandar changes the subject. "So you got new glasses, huh? Red looks good on you." The compliment makes the corner of her mouth twitch. She looks good with them, so he says.

"Yes, I needed a new prescription," Camille answers. "Everything looked blurry with my old ones."

"Aw, that's a shame. I liked your old glasses."

"Only because they were blue."

"Haha, you know me so well."

A peaceful silence hangs in the air for a moment. Camille glances towards Aleksandar's cup, and with a quiet voice, she asks something that had been on her mind for a long time. "What did you call me here for?"

Aleksandar doesn't respond to her question, his mind in a daze. His attention seems to be somewhere other than Camille, even though he's staring straight at her. Camille pats his arm. The touch jolts him back to their conversation, and he quickly takes his arm away, his ears bright red. "O-oh, sorry, what did you say? I wasn't listening."

"I noticed." Camille sighs, but a smile is present on her face. "I asked, what was the reason for this meeting?"

Aleksandar blinks. A grin slowly forms on his lips, and Aleksandar leans forward, close enough for Camille to feel his breath on her skin. "I just wanted to see you again," he says. Camille's face turns flushed, and she covers the side of her face with her hands. "I missed you."

"W-what?"

"Really though, I'm not kidding," Aleksandar says, seriousness gracing his features. "I seriously missed you." His black hair looks so shiny under the light, Camille notices. His eyes are full of vim and vigor too, and she feels nostalgic just staring at his face, his face, his face.

Aleksandar Kovachev.

_'Why did you have to die?'_ Camille thinks, but she bites her lips before she can say it out loud. What was she thinking? Aleksandar was sitting right in front of her! He isn't dead. Not now. Not ever. Aleksandar isn't dead. "I missed you too." Her voice cracks, but it's not like Aleksandar notices.

(Camille doesn't want him too, so he doesn't)

Aleksandar takes another sip of his coffee as mutters an 'mm' under his breath. "I wish I could see you and Vladimir more often. It's too bad that both of you are in the same university, but I'm on the other side of the city." He laughs (so, so, melodiously). "That's such a shame."

"I want to be by your side forever," Camille says quietly. She'd do anything to see Aleksandar. Just for him, just for him. "Because...because I want to see you again and again, every day, all the time. I don't want to let you go." The words are blurted out from her mouth as her hands start to tremble. "S-so I could come to visit once in a while, if you don't mind."

His eyes flutter in surprise, but Aleksandar soon grins and ruffles Camille's hair. She can't feel the warmth, even though she wants too. Camille can imagine his vibrant eyes and his lustrous hair, but she can't feel his warmth, and that makes her heart shatter into tiny pieces. "That'd be nice."

"...Is that it?" It takes all of Camille's willpower to stop herself from speaking in an unsteady tone. She forces a smile. "After my dramatic speech, that's all you have to say?"

Aleksandar laughs, and the sky seems to be in arm's reach. His blue, blue freedom seems so touchable. Tangible. "Alright, alright, then I'll add something else." He motions Camille to come closer and whispers something in her ear. She turns bright red, once again hiding her face behind her hands.

This time, she's crying. Aleksandar thinks she's just surprised, but only Camille knows the truth. It hurts, it hurts.

"I-I don't...," she says. "I mean...I..."

Aleksandar's lips twitch as he rubs Camille's arm in a soothing manner. "That's it?" he says in a joking way, but Aleksandar tries to calm Camille down by humming a soft tune under his breath. He was too good for her.

"No..." Camille buries her head even more, the tears threatening to spill all over the table. He was too good for her. He was too good for her. "You deserve better, Aleksandar. You deserve better, but I don't want to let you go. I'm never letting you go."

He grins, and it breaks Camille into even smaller shards, like dust to smoke. It breaks her, and she feels like digging her nails onto Aleksandar's skin, hoping (just hoping) that she could feel a part of him on her fingertips. Even a presence is fine; Camille just wants to feel his warmth. "Yeah, I'd like that."

.

.

.

Aleksandar's life is perfect, and he can't feel any more alive than he already is.

.

.

.

* * *

Camille sits up hastily. Her body is covered in cold sweat, her eyes are red and puffy. Aleksandar Kovachev. Again and again, she's thinking of him.

She turns her head to check the calendar hanging on her wall and notes that it's Sunday. How many days are there until his memorial? One-

No.

Eight hours.

She stays under the covers.

_Tick_.

Five hours.

She's too tired to be awake, but too awake to fall asleep.

_Tick_.

Three hours.

The time is going too fast. The minutes slip past her as she tries to count sheep.

Aleksandar Kovachev.

_Tick_.

Two hours.

Her brother has to force her to get up again.

_Tick_.

One.

_Tick_.

Camille isn't ready for this.

.

.

.

* * *

There weren't any gray skies. Contrary to what she imagined, the sky was blue during the memorial from start to finish. It was blue like the sky Aleksandar loved to stare at. It was sunny even, and birds were chirping, and cars were honking, and life went on and on.

Camille sighs as she peers through her glasses, staring at the boy in front of her. It's Vladimir, she thinks, and she's happy to see him. Gray cloud, black dress, rain, rain, rain. Camille feels sort of relieved that her imagination wasn't right. Blue skies suit Aleksandar more.

Vladimir is talking to someone. One of her classmates, actually. Lili Vogel is talking to Vladimir, and all Camille can do is stare, because she's tired and can't think straight, and the only thing on her mind is Aleksandar Kovachev; his eyes, his skin, his smile, and his everything haunt the corners of her entire being.

Camille gulps as she remembers the memorial.

Even though it only ended just about half an hour ago, it seems like such a simple memory to Camille now.

Camille continues to stare at the two, because she has nothing better to do, and she's tired, and she's...Is she repeating herself all over again? She's tired, too tired to be awake, and Aleksandar Kovachev haunts her mind.

She doesn't want him to.

At that moment, Vladimir catches her eye and grins, waving his hand to grab her attention.

(not that her attention wasn't already on them)

"Hey!" Vladimir shouts. Camille jumps when she hears him address her, and her eyes flutter in surprise. Lili turns and smiles at her too, and after a second's hesitation, Camille walks up to them.

"Good morning, Camille. How are you?" Lili asks, and Camille takes another double take. Lili knows her name? Lili does, Vladimir does too, and surprises stack on top of another again and again. Maybe, just maybe...Maybe it's because she's never realized it, but Camille might be more noticed than she tells herself.

(might?)

Still, a feeling of nostalgia creeps up on Camille. It reminds her of a young Aleksandar, of a young Camille, with no worries at all.

"A bit tired, but I'm doing well. I'm afraid I didn't get much sleep the last night," Camille says. She chews her bottom lip as awkwardness spreads across them, and she finds herself thinking that it would've been better if she didn't come at all-

"Well! It's certainly been a pleasure talking to both of you, but I must go." Camille is slightly shocked to know that she isn't the one saying those words. Instead, it's Lili. "I'm afraid I have some Student Council duties, and if it's no trouble, I'll excuse myself." The Liechtensteiner bows her head, a sad smile gracing her lips. "I give you my condolences again, Vladimir. Pardon me."

As Lili leaves, Vladimir turns to Camille. "So what's up? It's lunchtime, you know. Go eat some food."

Camille hangs her head, and she laughs bitterly, the taste almost lingering in her mouth. "I haven't a clue why I'm still staying here either."

"Hm, well, I'm going to the cafeteria now. Wanna come with me?"

They walk in silence, with Camille continuing to stare at the ground, and Vladimir whistling a simple tune. He loops it again and again, high notes succeed low ones, low ones succeed high notes, and it repeats in Camille's ear all over. Soon, Camille finds herself humming along.

Vladimir skips a note when she suddenly joins in, but continues to whistle a second later. Together, the two of them have a tiny duet, and Camille starts to feel much better than before. Even Vladimir has a tiny smirk on his face.

And suddenly, he stops. Camille halts a moment after he does, her voice growing quieter and quieter before it stops altogether. Then they continue to walk again in silence, before Vladimir speaks up. "Sorry." The words crack with his voice. "It's just...that was something Sasho liked to sing."

Again, it leads to Aleksandar Kovachev. Again and again.

Camille doesn't want to live like this anymore. She wants to take a step forward.

"It's a nice song," she says, "especially when you whistle it. I'm sure Aleksandar would be proud."

"Ha, really?" Vladimir asks. "I'm not that good. Sasho was better in singing it than I ever could."

Camille laughs. It's a light sound that resonates in her ears, and she can barely believe it. "How modest."

"It's true."

Once more, they parade on with a quiet stillness that Camille can't seem to break. It unsettles her stomach, and she suddenly doesn't have an appetite. Hunger doesn't faze her anymore. Somehow, she walks because she has to, wants to, every step taking her mind off of everything.

Camille glances at Vladimir. His eyes are downcast and looking away from her, but she can still see his uncomfortable expression. She gently grabs his wrist. "Stop, Vladimir. Please stop walking." It hurts Vladimir to move. Camille knows how much it hurts.

He complies. The two are almost at the cafeteria; Camille can hear the shouts and conversations of the people in the room. But she knows that Vladimir doesn't want to go either, because he look on his face tells her all that she needs to know. "Sorry, I guess I don't feel hungry right now," he says. "But you can go grab some food."

"I don't want to."

Vladimir stares at her for a moment before he snorts. "I dragged you here for nothing, didn't I?"

_'It's the other way around.'_ "No, you didn't." Camille starts to walk again, towing Vladimir along with her. The noises are deafening. They feel constricted, restrained. "Let's go somewhere else."

"Where?"

Camille doesn't know. But isn't that the point? You don't know what happens in the future. You can try your best to plan ahead, or make a specific schedule on how you want your life to plan out, but unexpected things happen and change everything. So for once, Camille wants to be free to do whatever she wants.

Her destiny can't be a predetermined course of events. The little things make it worthwhile. "Anywhere," she says curtly. "We're going wherever my feet take us."

Again, Vladimir chuckles. He sounds much better this way, Camille thinks. "In other words, you don't know."

"I never said that."

"It was implied."

Camille smiles. "Trying to solve the greatest case you could find, Detective?"

"Very funny, Camille. I'm laughing so hard you can't even hear it."

"I'm glad I can make you feel better." And that's where the conversation stops again. Camille doesn't bother trying to start another one.

After a while, Vladimir speaks up, this time, in a quieter voice. "Were you implying that I was sad, Camille?"

The girl pauses, not knowing how to respond to that. Her hands feel heavy with his wrist, but he doesn't let go or look back at him. Instead, her hand travels down to his, and she squeezes it tight. It's not enough of an answer to Vladimir, because he asks her again, "Did you think I was upset?"

They start to walk side by side. Camille muses that Vladimir must be impatient, maybe even angry, but when she finally convinces herself to look at him, he has a small grin on his face. She smiles back.

The warmth from Vladimir's hand makes Camille's heart ache. It's a sign that he is living, that he is breathing, while Aleksandar is not. No matter how hard she tries, she can never feel Aleksandar's warmth again.

But Vladimir is alive, isn't he? Camille is too. In this exact moment, that's all that matters.

"You know, he made so many mistakes in his life. Aleksandar, that is." Vladimir's voice jolts Camille out of her thoughts. "Not in a clumsy way either; he just made a lot of bad choices. But I guess that's what makes us human, yeah?"

Camille blinks. Again and again, it's Aleksandar. "I suppose."

"He was a good kid though. Very loyal and trustworthy. Stuck up for people. Funny with a weird sense of humour. Heh, he was so many things, but he just wasn't...he didn't like thinking things through. Sensible, yes, but never understood things unless it was in hindsight. Still, I was lucky to have him as my best friend," Vladimir says. "So, so lucky..."

"How did he die?" Camille asks. She doesn't mean to say it, but she can't back out now. She just can't. "The teacher told our class he was in a car crash, but..."

Vladimir looks at her for a second, before he swings their hands back and forth. "No, no, it was a complete accident," he explains, shaking his head. "I made him sound reckless, didn't I? The driver did a hit-and-run, that's all. Nothing too complicated."

But it _is_ complicated. The very essence of his death makes Camille's head twirl in confusion.

Even so, with Vladimir talking about him like a distant memory, Camille feels...conflicted. All the sorrow she felt in the past two weeks seemed to disappear. Or maybe it's because she's happy now. Maybe knowing how _alive_ everything else is, how short life truly is, reminds Camille to be happy.

In a way, death equals to life.

Camille knows that.

"I bet if he was still alive, he'd make this all into a joke." Vladimir has a lopsided smirk on his face. "That guy was just too happy-go-lucky. Even when things got serious, he never made them anymore worrisome than they already were...Hey, I'm boring you with all this sentimental stuff, am I?"

"Not at all. It's actually quite refreshing." They reach the school entrance, and with a quick decision, Camille exits the doors. The sky is still blue, and the birds are still chirping. Like the vast, blue sky, her mind feels free and calm. "...I have a question, if you don't mind."

"Mm?"

No turning back.

"Would he have any regrets if he was still alive?" Camille asks, and Vladimir draws back. Their grip loosens between each other, and Camille, after a moment's hesitation, allows him to let go. "You don't have to answer it, if you don't want to."

Vladimir shrugs and stares at Camille with a weird look. She's apprehensive; curious, but apprehensive, and he gives out a weak chuckle. "Something tells me you don't really want to know."

But she does, oh how she does. She wants to know if Aleksandar was happy (truly, truly) with his entire life. All of the adventures he could have had, all the years he could have lived, were gone in the dust. Camille needs to know if his short-lived happiness was a long-term thing.

(And she's secretly curious if he...no, she isn't. At least, she shouldn't be. Slight anxiety bubbles in her stomach.)

She doesn't bother to correct him though. "Again with this game, Detective Vladimir?"

"Hmph, how snarky. That kind of sass gets you nowhere, my dear." His voice is full of contempt, but his expression tells Camille otherwise. The smile on his face suits him, and she likes him better when he's happy. "He rubbed off on you, didn't he? Or maybe it's the other way around..."

Vladimir looks at the sky, clear and cloudless, and Camille wonders if the sky was purposely sunny today.

And then she laughs to herself because she makes it seem like the world revolves around Aleksandar. Aleksandar this, Aleksandar that, and she laughs like it's a joke. He'd be proud of her, she hopes.

"I'd say he was happy enough," Vladimir continues. "I don't know if he had some secret troubles or whatever, but he did have his share of problems." The weird look appears again as he glances at Camille. "Still, Sasho wouldn't have a lot of _regrets_. Maybe four or five, give and take."

Camille's mouth twitches upwards. "That's good...Not to say it's good that he _would_ have regrets, just, he wouldn't have many."

Vladimir nods. "Mm hm, some of his greatest mistakes died with him." He eyes her for a second longer before he grins. "But no matter how many mistakes he made, he was right about one thing."

"And what would that be?"

He laughs, and she thinks the world looks much brighter than it already is. Aleksandar's sky reigns above them, and the sun shines like there's no tomorrow. "Camille's a very pretty name."

* * *

_from dust and smoke, from earth and skies,_

_to death,_

_to life,_

_to love reborn._


End file.
